Lately, I’ve been watching Daredevil on a free trial of Netflix that I was forced to get in order to complete a different class. I might as well milk it for all it’s worth while I’ve got it.

It’s pretty different, watching Netflix shows. They tend to be written much more tightly and be more hard-hitting than TV shows. Since it’s sort of a “view at your own discretion” situation, they can also deal with things that most channels would shy away from discussing.

I love the way Daredevil is written. The dialogue is tight and loaded. Not a single word is wasted. Each character has a distinct voice, or even multiple voices–Matt has his “lawyer” voice, which is reasoned and comes across as almost stilted but very well put-together; his “informal” voice–his natural way of talking; and his “Daredevil” voice, which is much more terse than either of the others. The very choice of words builds into the characters.

At one point, Matt asks Karen if she believes; she replies that she doesn’t. In return, she asks him if he does. He replies “Catholic.” The reply is so textured, so many-faceted, not least because of his word choice.

It implies so much. Matt sees his faith as part of who he is, fundamentally; to him, it’s the thing that motivates him to take a stand and not back down; to get up again when he gets knocked down. It’s both a motivation and an example. For him, his faith is something concrete.

But it’s not just part of Matt’s identity that his word choice hints at.

It implies that Matt also believes that it doesn’t just matter that you believe; your exact beliefs matter too. That’s rather an unpopular opinion to hold in these days of watered-down Christianity, where hounded Christians greet any fellow Christian of any denomination as a friend in a world that seems to hate their guts. But that’s just a symptom–a welcome one, though–of a bigger problem.

A lot of people seem to think that it doesn’t matter what you believe, just that you do. Still more appear to be of the opinion that you can believe whatever you like, so long as you follow the nebulous call of “the right thing”–but no one seems to quite know what the right thing is.

But you see… people with all their beliefs laid out clearly on the table do.

The modern school of thought on “the right thing” grows out of a set of damaging beliefs from religions that people don’t dare to call out individually. And thus, they water down beliefs that common thought understands to be hurtful. Christianity gets watered down right along with them, even though it shouldn’t.

As a result, we get a series of feel-good philosophies that are, once you’ve lived them out for a while, hollow and dingy, and when they don’t feel fulfilled people just move on and try the next one, or they throw their hopes into exercise or yoga or things that have much more potential for harm.

That is not what religion is meant to be.

Let me repeat myself: that is not what religion is meant to be!

Religion is hard-hitting. It doesn’t pull its punches. As G.K. Chesterton once said, “Christianity has not been tried and found wanting. It has been found difficult and left untried.”

Either you believe it all, or you put your faith in nothing. It’s as simple as that.

Personally, I believe that there is God and the devil. I believe in Heaven and Hell; I believe in the Bible, and I believe in the Savior. I can’t compromise. This is, as it is for Matt Murdoch, part of who I am.

I won’t apologize (as in, say I’m sorry.) But I will apologize (as in, live out my faith for everyone to see, and defend it if it’s attacked.)

Another thing about the zeitgeist; anything is permissible as long as “it’s just who I am!” Well, this is just who I am. Are you offended?

If you are, I recommend that you look really closely at the reasons why.

(I also recommend that you watch Daredevil. There’s some language, and it’s very violent, graphic and even gory in parts, but it’s also a very good show, both writing and morality-wise.)

In the previous post, I explained why anger (and other emotions) is important to your novel and the different tendencies of character types in anger. In this post, I will give specific examples, explain how backstory can influence a character’s emotions, and give some advice and handy tools for writing it into your novels.

Anger tends to vary drastically within types as well as within genders. Take Obi-Wan Kenobi and the Doctor, for example. I have them both classed as Type Fives because they’re both extremely complex characters who use a lot of misdirection and subtlety (as a side note, I watched part of David Tennant playing Hamlet and I’d have to say, Hamlet is Type Five as well.) Obi-Wan and the Doctor are both a bit more emotional than the stereotypical Type Five (Sherlock Holmes, for instance), but they have tendencies towards different emotions. Obi-Wan, while he’s a generally optimistic person with a mostly-happy childhood, is also a realist (see? really complex!) and slides toward sadness as an adult (as a child, he had a very quick temper), and I’d imagine that of all the Star Wars characters he’s probably the one hiding the fact that he has to take antidepressants. Obi-Wan has a tendency to switch topics without warning (non sequitur to the Rest Of The World), but has come to manage that in his adult life so he acts more like an INFJ than an INTJ (which I’m pretty sure he is.) The Doctor is much more bipolar. He sometimes has dramatic mood swings, jumps from idea to idea without consistency and gets depressed when he loses Rose in his tenth incarnation. (The Ninth and Twelfth Doctors were both much more focused, while Eleven just seems a bit aimless and underdeveloped to me.)

As a child, Obi-Wan was under a lot of stress much of the time–his teachers had high expectations, he routinely exceeded them, which in turn made his teachers set their standards for him even higher. No one ever particularly told him that he was clever, which certainly helped him to become the humble character we all love, but it didn’t do much to help him cope with his workload–being observant, he knew that most of his age-mates weren’t working this hard. Either he didn’t know the reason, or he simply rationalized it that he was stupid, because he was working so much harder than everyone else. Because he was stressed, he tended to flare up in anger when bullied, which made people perceive him as an angry person when he really was a compassionate and thoughtful one under a lot of stress. (He was probably also dealing with depression, but it went unnoticed because he didn’t fit the stereotype.) This was dramatically exacerbated when he came closer to the cut-off date for apprenticeship. It was a self-fueling cycle that pushed him down, but fortunately Yoda observed what was going on, realized that he was caught in a cycle and they weren’t seeing his true self, and used the fact that he’d recently gotten into a fight with another Jedi hopeful to get him out of the Temple and away from the cycle. (“The Rising Force” by Dave Wolverton. What makes me think he was dealing with depression? The hopeless way he responded to being taken away from the Temple and his difficulty in finding the will to fight back when attacked on the transport. I may be wrong about depression, but that seems to fit the facts.)

As an adult, Obi-Wan was not as likely to flare up, even when provoked. It took a major provocation (oftentimes aimed at his loved ones rather than himself) to get him angry. While he was outwardly a model of serenity, he was really a visionary, passionate and idealistic, and had an innate ability to read other people and respond to them in a disarming way. (Oh, sorry, did I say Obi-Wan was INTJ? It’s really hard to tell if that big letter is a T or an F, especially with him.) Obi-Wan was both a traditionalist and a reformer, and given enough time he might have been able to get the entire Jedi Order back on track. Obi-Wan always had a sarcastic and often dark sense of humor with a love of wordplay and a cutting wit that he used as a smokescreen to hide any internal trepidation. However, his sarcasm was more often a part of his humor than of his anger.

As an adult, Obi-Wan responded to anger in one of two ways. One was a sudden burst of anger (in response to sudden provocation), followed quickly by calm, rational thought, and the other was a cold, distant, controlled and calculated wrath that was completely terrifying, even if you were not the target of it at the time. Obi-Wan was not an angry person, however. His anger was aroused and then when it was over, it was completely gone.

The Doctor, while he had a similar upbringing (taught at an academy with little to no familial contact after his induction), was always more of a rebel. While Obi-Wan had an intuitive understanding of the world and the people around him, the Doctor, while brilliant, would often find himself confronted by situations and things he didn’t understand. The Doctor never particularly cared about other people’s opinions and was often more sassy than sarcastic. Sarcasm was not often a part of his anger, either. The Doctor didn’t often have those rapid flare-ups of temper as an adult–his anger was a constant, a perpetual and constantly controlled presence and as such it was always tightly controlled. When openly angry, the Doctor’s anger was similar to Obi-Wan’s calculated cold fury. He would often be verbally cutting (though not sarcastic,) whittling people down (often to tears) with words. His word choice, posture, and expression would all become menacing. For me, the most effective thing about David Tennant’s performance as the Doctor was the way he could play a character who is sweet, charming, frankly adorable and a little bit ditzy but who is at the same time an intensely driven individual, with an ever-present and deep-rooted anger–especially the way Tennant is able to jump so quickly between the two.

There was another image I was going to use, but it’s the most terrifying expression you are ever likely to see, so I’m going to refrain. This blog is mostly G-rated, after all.

Their angry expressions vary, too: Obi-Wan presses his lips together tightly, the Doctor tends to display his teeth (which is slightly unnerving in its own right–Ten’s teeth are sort of angled-in, which prompted him to comment “That’s weird” immediately after his regeneration.) Obi-Wan’s anger is all in the way he looks calculatedly at people, while the Doctor’s anger is all in the eyes and mouth–eyebrows draw together, lips curl back, and his nose wrinkles a little. The Doctor looms over people, while Obi-Wan tenses up in his core and has to remind himself to breathe. That last one could be more because Obi-Wan’s training was a little more martial in style, so he’s preparing to leap into action at any second. The Doctor’s anger intimidates, while Obi-Wan prepares to fight.

(Bottom line, fangirls: The Doctor is scary. He does have a fluffy side but he also has quite the dark side. Do not occasion David Tennant giving you The Eyebrow… if he did it to me I’d probably burst into tears.)

Let’s talk about Steve Rogers, a typical Type One. Steve doesn’t get angry often, but when he does, you do not want to get on his bad side. Captain America: The Winter Soldier has several prime examples. In the first fifteen or so minutes of the movie, he tells Fury off for not giving him the whole story about the opening mission. Rather than verbally attacking Fury or using sarcasm, though, he lets Fury know he’s angry and then tells him why in plain language that’s not calculated to make Fury angry in turn. As a result, we find out how much Fury really respects Steve–in response to Steve’s accusation, he shows us that he values Steve’s respect by showing Steve SHIELD’s latest top-secret project: Project Insight. You wouldn’t think that Fury would let something like Steve’s respect be that important to him, but it is.

The other notable anger we see Steve display in The Winter Soldier is his anger following the shock of discovering that his best friend is still alive and has been brainwashed into a Soviet superweapon. “Would you have compartmentalized that too?” he asks Fury, the most biting his language to Fury has gotten thus far. He’s being a little bit irrational, which is not really typical for Steve at all. I think that in the scene on the bridge when Sam Wilson says “He’s the kind you stop,” Steve is still angry about it but keeps himself from lashing out viciously at Sam because it is not Sam’s fault.

You can’t really see it on his face when Steve is angry because his angry look is more “calculating” than “angry.” You have to listen to him to know he’s angry. Also, Steve’s sarcasm is rarely connected with his anger–it’s more self-deprecating. We generally only see him use sarcasm when he’s angry with himself or trying to work with people, and then he uses his sarcasm the same way–to defuse the situation through self-deprecating humor. It’s very rare for us to see Steve use anything but plain language–which would seem to be a fairly common trait for Type Ones. They can get technical, but most of the time they whittle things down to the barest meaning they can.

Bucky Barnes is different from most Type Twos. He’s brave, funny, active, adventurous, and a people person. Cool factor was harder to figure out, but he’s the Winter Soldier. However, he isn’t as much of a planner as Steve is and as a result we never see him planning anything in particular. Rather than acting or taking the initiative, we see him reacting (which is probably because his supposed death is the “Mirror Moment” of The First Avenger–the moment the main character goes from reacting to initiating the action.) Bucky is more of what I’d call a mature Type Two–a Type Two who is aware of their own character flaws and dark side, making it more of a character strength for him than a weakness. He’s less existential than Type Ones or Fives though, so he doesn’t deal with such deep self-hate as, for instance, the Doctor, Obi-Wan, or Steve.

When Bucky gets angry, it’s normally because someone has attacked Steve (verbally or physically.) I’d imagine that when someone badmouths Steve, Bucky attacks them personally with his words and tears them down completely. He is quietly angry about the injustice of people constantly taking it out on Steve, but doesn’t quite know what to do about it (because he’s more based in social norms than a Type Five like Sherlock, who would not be held back in going after the wrongdoers simply because it wasn’t “okay.”)

Wow. This post turned out long. I’ll have to split it into three, rather than two as I had planned… Stay tuned for the final installment of this series!

Yes, I know it has been a while. I’m sorry. Also, I am not going to list all my (completely valid) excuses here because that would be an entire post in itself. And a half.

In this post, I will explain the different ways different types of characters get angry and why this is important to your story. In the second part of this post (coming soon,) I will give specific examples and explain how you can use this in your story.

Warning: This post will be working off of WriteFury‘s and my character typing system, so if you are not familiar with it, you should probably go and glance through them now:

Click here for Character Profile #1.

Click here for Character Profile #2.

Click here for Character Profile #3.

Click here for Character Profile #4.

Click here for Character Profile #5.

Now that that’s out of the way, we can talk character!

Anger is always a useful tool to better define characters in your readers’ minds. A character who does not get angry or otherwise show an emotion at some point (preferably multiple some-point’s!) in the course of a story will come off as either an emotionless robot or a soulless, undeveloped, bland nobody.

Of course, different characters get provoked to strong emotion in different ways. Here’s a quick checklist to consider (using gender-neutral pronouns for brevity):

What would xe see as an unforgivable outrage?

Is xir anger more likely to be righteous or not-so-righteous? (More about this below!)

Is xe easily provoked to anger? (Bonus points if the villain uses this character flaw against xir!)

How does xir anger come out? (aka shouting, sarcasm, physical actions, etc.) Also, is xe completely unreasonable when angry? (If so, here’s something for xir to work on in the course of the story!)

Is xe more likely to try to control xir anger?

What most commonly makes xir angry? (As in, what everyday annoyance would be most likely to provoke xir?)

Different character types tend to get angry differently. Type Ones can get this look that they are plotting horrible revenge (I am looking at you, Steven Rogers!), or alternatively get quiet and extremely calculating when they are angry. In fact, they may not seem to be angry at all, but use calculated language to make others angry.

Type Twos and Threes often explode in anger or lash out verbally at others because they feel their Fortress of Solitude has been penetrated or wronged. (Incidentally, these two types are also the most likely to take criticism personally rather than realistically and implementing it to improve performance, like Type Ones and Type Fives often do.) Type Twos and Threes are often blissfully unaware of their own character flaws and defects (unlike Type Ones and Fives, who tend to know their own personalities altogether too well and are more likely to develop self-hate as a result), and when their personal flaws are pointed out to them, they get defensive and angry. They’re also more likely to get worked up about things (taking gentle criticism completely out of context, for instance.) Like Type Fives, Type Twos and Type Threes sometimes do things that are considered inappropriate, but because they are in the grip of some powerful passion and they aren’t thinking ahead.

Type Fours are most likely to explode in anger when their friends are attacked, whether physically (when Steve Rogers was being beaten up behind the theater, for instance) or verbally (if one character says something bad about another character), especially if the accusation is untrue or perceived to be untrue. They are more likely to lash out with words than physically, and when aroused can be just as verbally cutting as a Type One or a Type Five.

Type Ones and Fives are the deep thinkers. Type Ones tend to get angry about social injustice and similar issues, while a Type Five is more likely to go out and do something about it. (However, since Type Fives often tend to be “poorly socialized”, sometimes the things they do about injustice are either blown totally out of proportion or just generally inappropriate, though their solutions are almost never completely ineffective.) Both Type Ones and Type Fives are the most likely to work themselves up about things that may or may not be personal to them, but in a completely impersonal way. Type Fives almost never get angry because of a personal attack. Type Ones may get depressed over being attacked in a personal way, but they don’t retaliate. Type Fives are the most likely of any type to retaliate for any perceived wrongdoing, simply because they perceived it as a wrong and not out of any personal, emotional response. Type Fives always think ahead–in terms of logic, not generally accepted norms–and will reach conclusions and do things that make them appear to others as amoral, weird, or unfeeling. However, those conclusions, to them, make perfect sense, and they often react with surprise or confusion when informed that “People just don’t do that!” Type Fives will also go through with a logical course of action, even if it will have a negative impact on them. They aren’t unware that there will be consequences. They’ve simply weighed benefits against consequences and decided on (to them) an appropriate course of action.

As a result, it may seem like Type Fives don’t get angry, but they may simply not be showing that anger on the outside while their movements are calculated and driven by deep, elemental passion. If you have posed a threat, done something to, hurt, or otherwise upset to the friend of a Type Five (even one who, like Batman, won’t kill you,) you are done for. Prepare for your life to be made miserable. The perceived wrong may not have even particularly upset the friend. In the eyes of the Type Five, you are guilty and the logical conclusion is that you deserve to be punished.

Don’t simply assume that just because a character is male, or female, he or she will get angry in a certain way. Not only is that sexist, it’s also unrealistic, and lazy. (Very, very extremely lazy.) Character types are spread out among both genders, just as all personality types appear in both men and women (though, as a quick caveat, they do operate slightly differently in men than in women.) See this post for more information. Some women will get angry in a seemingly stereotypical way. Some will cry. Others will lash out verbally. Others will resort to cutting sarcasm, while still others will be silently plotting your demise. (On a side note and as a woman myself, I would advise you to simply not make women angry at all. There’s always the off chance that you’ve just insulted a Peggy Carter and you are about to DIE in a creative and impressive way.) Some men cry when they’re upset, too, though Society frowns on this and they try to hide it. (It’s really not shameful to cry, people. However, it’s the Types Two, Three, and Four that are most likely to know and accept this. Types One and Five are notorious for bottling it up inside in that infamous Stoic Hero way.)

Here ends Part One of this post. You might also want to check out WriteFury’s post on Myers-Briggs personality types as a characterization tool. For specific examples and more on how backstory drives characters’ emotions, check back in shortly to read Part Two. As always, thanks for reading, have a great day, and God Bless!

Last night some people from the Intergalactic Press came over and we were having dinner at the time.

The Doctor was eating in a hurry, focused entirely on getting back to the lab (from whence he’d been dragged by Pepper Potts, who had pulled Tony out at the same time). And Obi-Wan’s manners are impeccable, but he sometimes reads at the table.

Mistress El’ye went out to stall the journalists, but it wasn’t enough. She tried to text Darcy, but Darcy’s phone had been summarily destroyed when it fell in the tub (which is part of what the Doctor had been doing in the lab.) We didn’t learn this, however, until later, when the whole fiasco was over.

Mistress El’ye lead the press in… into a scene of chaos.

Dibbuns were having a food fight in the corner, Arden was just trying to get a cup of coffee before heading out but had already spilled it twice onto the Doctor’s coat, because Camicazi was having a sword fight with Archie Kennedy and kept jostling Arden. Cerasi had apparently gotten fed up with Merida trying to play the guitar (Merida is horrible, but keeps on battering away at it with that same Scottish stubbornness that keeps the Doctor in the lab day after day, trying to figure out a substitute for gluten) and was launching peas at her with a slingshot. Rassilon had made an appearance, but had been repelled with celery, pancakes, and bouillon-filled water pistols, and Moriarty got the same treatment. We let the Master sit with us for once, but he was building an intricate diagram out of squished white bread (which I kept demolishing on the sly by tossing bread rolls at it.) Sherlock was using John’s arm as a place to set his tea cup.

All in all, a typical Selay’uu dinnertime.

Into this mess marched a group of journalists, researching rumors for the penny dreadfuls. And stopped, aghast.

Almost instantly, a plucky and present-minded young photographer had his camera up and snapped a photo.

Obi-Wan and the Doctor both froze, an identical horrified look on both their faces. Obi-Wan had just bitten into a cookie, and the Doctor sat with his spoon halfway into his mouth. It was practically comical, except the circumstances weren’t.

I had to agree to an interview. That part wasn’t so awesome, except fortunately I was wearing black, so the spilled coffee (Arden takes it black, with no sugar or cream) wouldn’t show.

But I bribed the photographer for a copy of the picture. It now hangs, framed in glory, on my wall.

He said he couldn’t have published it, anyways, because it looked like Anakin was making a very rude gesture in the background.

(I know for sure he wasn’t, because he was next to Obi-Wan, he was just making the Whole World Right Here gesture, it just looks like he was being obscene, he really wasn’t. But Obi-Wan gave him a mild scolding anyway.)

Because no Internet life is complete without a parody of Mary Sue or badfic!

Enjoy! ;-D

Silence Will Fall

Xoehemina Wraithlight Spickl the Third rolled over and grinned at her true love. “Wakey wakey, Lokes!” she said in a sing-song nasal voice pitched at exactly the same key as nails on a chalk board. It was like birdsong and music all rolled into one—that is, if said bird was a crow with a five-year cold and a pack-a-day smoker and the music was played by a beginner violinist with a squint from London to New York.

Loki sat up gracefully on his elbow and smirked at his bride. “Good morning, my love,” he said. “Don’t bother to rise just yet… here, let me go and bring you breakfast in bed…”

Suddenly, an odd, wheezing hydraulic sound could be heard outside the window. Xoehemina perked up at the sound. She was a beautiful vision in off-white as she ran out onto the veranda like a flat-footed ostrich or an elephant with eczema.

“My soulmate cometh!” she proclaimed, waving her arms in a dramatic gesture like a chicken with hiccups and fell flat on her cute little backside. Loki helped her to her feet.

“You can’t seriously be breaking up with me!” Loki’s voice rose to a crescendo and tears rolled down over his nose. Xoehemina turned around to pat his cheek as the TARDIS materialized before them.

“Oh, pish tush. It’s a time machine. I could be back yesterday!” she said cheerfully, snapping her fingers. The TARDIS made an angry, protesting sound as its doors flew open with a violent crash, but the sentient ship was unable to voice her annoyance to the fans and as such was frequently abused, like so. Xoehemina ignored the TARDIS’ protests as she waltzed gaily inside. She popped open her old pocket watch. “I left my hearts in Gallifrey.”

The doors flew shut behind her, the TARDIS making another angry sound. Xoehemina turned around and almost bumped into a tall, thin man who was looking at her, one eyebrow raised in a potentially frightening manner. Xoehemina fell flat on her backside again, spreading her arms wide. “Theta sugar! It’s me, your childhood crush Ashkanakxygr!”

“I have never met you in my life before. Leave my poor TARDIS alone and get out.”

“You have to remember me!” Ashkanakxygr shrieked. The Doctor flinched at the piercing sound. Ashkanakxygr was beyond paying attention. “We went to school together. We kissed for the first time when the moons were shining over the red mountains. My heart was broken forever when you ran away. Don’t you remember that?”

“None of it,” the Doctor said with finality. “You’re not a Time Lord. I would know you. I do not. For the last time, get off my TARDIS.”

“Pyrdon baby bear…” Ashkanakxygr began. She didn’t finish. The Doctor had pushed her out onto the surface of a barren planet, there to wail her heart out for all eternity. (Did I mention she was immortal?)

Back in his cell on Asgard, Loki snickered. Thor shuddered as he walked past his brother’s cell.

“Seriously, brother. Get a life.”

“But manipulating these half-witted mortals is so amusing,” Loki drawled. Suddenly, he reached down to his belt pouch. “Sorry, message waiting on my magic tablet.”

On the blank surface appeared a short message.

Loki. If you send another of your crowd after me ever again, I am letting Ace loose on you.

Loki cackled and turned back to his mischief. Thor went upstairs, wrote a quick note of apology, and gave it to Huginn to deliver. The raven would see that it reached the Doctor’s hand—eventually.

“What was that thing?” Donna asked distastefully as the Doctor washed and sanitized his hands for the fourth time.

“Maria Susare, commonly known as a Mary Sue, for some reason. They’re ancient creatures, pre-dating Time itself. They normally inhabit the Void and unknown parts of deep, empty space, where they prey on the unwary, but once in a while one will get lost and become every hero’s worst nightmare.” The Doctor shuddered violently, but caught himself. “They sometimes cause innocent, everyday people like us to behave contrary to our nature, and they often butt in where they’re not wanted. They’re parasites, and in their true form they are monstrous creatures with horns and teeth the length of my finger, claws and hideous bat wings which they use to disguise their horrible pink-and-black mottled skin. They’re horrible creatures that are only half-intelligent, fixated on certain ideas and unable to form new ones. They can not be reasoned with. A few brave hunters sometimes seek them out to slay them, but they must have found new sources of food, or they would have vanished from the face of the universe by now…” The Doctor grimaced in distaste. “This one was… rather… amorous.” Donna almost laughed at the Doctor’s discomfort, but quickly returned to seriousness.

Okay, this… um. It’s a bit sad, and I’m posting it mostly for the Doctor Who fans on here…

How I got the idea for this: I was thinking about Marvel, and then Peter Quill’s line from Guardians of the Galaxy came up: “I look around, and I see losers. People who have lost stuff. But today, life’s given us something.” (And I won’t finish the quote because he dropped a profanity in the next sentence. Faugh.)

Anyway, it made me think. And writing this made me cry, so you’re not alone.

Her mother consoled her as best she could, secure in the delusions of adulthood, where the worst thing that could happen to you was eviction or losing a job.

However, Rose knew better.

“Please, send someone to see about the crack in the wall,” Amy pleaded as she said her prayers. “Please, please, please.” With the crack, she was terrified of sleeping in her room. It rumbled and growled and sometimes it felt as if the world was falling apart around her.

“Mom?” Jack asked from the doorway as his mother leafed through the paperwork. “When is dad coming home?”

“I’m afraid he isn’t,” she said, a catch in her voice. “He won’t be coming home, ever.”

“Where has he gone? Doesn’t he love us?” Jack sobbed.

“He loves us, yes,” his mother whispered. “But he’s dead, Jack.”

“What?”

“Jack, remember this always. Death stops the breath, but it can’t stop the heart. Your father died for a friend’s sake. That’s the ultimate act of love.”

“There’s a monster in the void,” the boy sobbed into his pillow. “Please, Daddy, please take it away.”

“I can’t. I am so sorry,” the father replied, gripping his son’s shoulder.

“But it knows my name,” the boy insisted. The father closed his eyes, wishing that his precious son could have stayed a child just a little while longer.

He had been having these nightmares since his eighth birthday.

“Don’t be afraid to be scared,” the father said. “Courage is doing the right thing despite your fear.”

Adults forgot sometimes the harsh reality of a world of nightmare, shutting themselves away in their safe delusions where the worst thing that could happen was losing a job or being evicted. True, those were terrible things to happen, but not so terrible as the child running from the evil he knows is all too real when those who should defend him tell him it is not. Being evicted is not as terrible as losing a home. Losing a job is not as horrifying as becoming lost for all of eternity, an anchorless wanderer, drifting forever through a lukewarm, empty mist.

He swore to protect them, and he would. He always would.

“Your father was a wonderful man, Rose.” Jackie whispered. “You don’t remember him. You were just a baby when he died. He was clever, and he was kind. He would have gone a long way in the world if he hadn’t been hit by that kid.”

“But it was a child’s dream that brought you here. You dreamed that you could hold back death,” the stranger said. Grace looked away. Deep inside, she would never forget Collin. If time travel was real, couldn’t they just go back and save him?

“Amelia Pond. Like a girl in a fairy tale,” the stranger rolled the syllables around his tongue like the silkiest chocolate ice cream.

“Amelia Pond, that was a brilliant name—”

“Bit fairytale.”

He would protect them, for this.

The Fatherless Girl grew up to change history and re-write Fate, and save her friends a million times over.

The Girl Who Waited would grow up to teach a lonely man how to be human again.

The Boy from Boeshane would grow up to seek a new way.

The Girl Who Dreamed grew up to seek out lights in a new sky.

The Lonely Boy grew up to weave himself an armor of words and walk the stars forever, forging his own destiny and swearing to defend them all—to heal and not to kill, to protect and not to destroy. The solemn oath was the beginning of his life.

No child deserves to cry alone. No person should be allowed to believe that they are unloved. No living being should be allowed to think for the tiniest second that they were not important.

He’s sitting in her apartment when she opens the door, holding a glass that’s half-full of untouched vodka, just for the look of the thing. She’s never been able to keep him out, not that she ever really tried.

“Rough day?” she asks, setting down her Glock on the table beside the door. He inhales through his nose.

“You should know.” Setting down the glass, he stands and walks to the window. “What a view.”

Natasha sighs and reflects on the fact that she knows barely anything about this man, except for the fact that his story is rather like hers.

Too much like hers. Filled with death and betrayal.

“Is there a reason why you’re in my apartment?” He shakes his head. There never is. The Black Widow doesn’t pursue relationships, but sometimes people ask for an in. He never did and she knows he never will.

For some reason, he seems to like her company—only her company—Natasha Romanoff, the woman who built her own life back up from the rubble she was left with when she walked away from those who stole it from her, she, Natasha, who knows the feeling of dust and ash in her nose and throat, the feeling of blood spilled out onto squelching shoes and the pain of bloody broken fingernails as she claws herself by her own willpower up out of the pit.

They’re survivors, both of them. And both of them are quick to deny the simple truth that they both need anyone—someone.

Though, maybe, not so much tonight.

“I met someone,” he says. “She was special and clever and innocent, but she wasn’t naïve. And… she wouldn’t run. It was nice.”

“So, what happened?” Natasha asks, taking off her leather jacket.

“I lost her.”

Love is for children. Love is for children. Love is for children.

They would be someone else’s children, now.

The record in the background was caught in one track, skipping absurdly on one phrase.

Love is for love is for love is for…

He walked over and lifted the needle.

“I should go.” Natasha gripped his arm as he walked by her.

“Did she love you?”

“She never said.”

“But you could tell.”

“Yes.” He inhaled sharply. “I could tell.”

“And did you love her?”

“Yes.” It came out, and it sounded hollow.

“Stay with the Avengers, Natasha. All of you… you’re all going to be legends. And they’re going to need you.” he said suddenly. Natasha swallowed.

“Do you want anything? Tea?”

“Make it matter,” he said. Natasha took a deep breath.

“Will you be all right?” she asked. He turned halfway to look at her.

“I’m always all right.” Then he was gone again, and Natasha wondered just how much—or how little—she knew the Doctor.

“Then try the other thing! I don’t know how it works! Just… poke it, I guess.”

“Why do you not use the mallet you do when your ship slips off course?”

“Why don’t you?”

“I fear I might accidentally demolish it if I did.”

“…touche.”

I opened the door to my room, only to find that it led not into the hallway, but into somewhere else. The Doctor was running circles around an object that could only be described as a Thing, while Thor was gingerly prodding it. It was shaking dramatically from side to side, glinting like a disco ball and buzzing ineffectually, like an annoyed insect.

“What’s going on?” I demanded. Thor looked up apologetically, while the Doctor opened his mouth irately and went off into a long rant or complaint (it didn’t sound much like an explanation) about rogue Time Lords, King Arthur’s second-best hat, a green-eyed basilisk, a carrot and a pigeon.*

“If you can’t get it to work,” I said practically, “and you don’t know what it is or what it does, why not just destroy it?”

On second thought, maybe not so practical–but I had had work (not the fun kind, the kind that brings in money and is miserable) and was in a vicious mood.

The Doctor opened his mouth and shut it again. “That just might work,” he said dubiously.

I looked around. “Also, why is my bedroom in the TARDIS?”

“I think the TARDIS likes you,” said Thor, bringing Mjolnir down on the Thing with a resounding clang. The Doctor muttered something that sounded suspiciously like “traitor”.

It also sounded like the TARDIS was laughing in the background.

We never did find out what the Thing was for.

It was probably a dummy and did not do anything. It is also likely that the Thing was constructed by the Master (who we put in a looney bin) as a chew toy. Or a cuddle beastie.

Who knows?

(It was a very confusing day.)

*Please don’t ask me to tell you how those particular objects are related. One: I am not Steven Moffat. Two: I doubt even Steven Moffat can understand the Doctor when he starts babbling like that. Three: I also doubt that even Steven Moffat can explain the “three things and a lizard” comment, so you should definitely NOT ask me.

Author’s Note: Who wants Thor to be a companion on Doctor Who? *raises hand* (Weeeell, any of the Avengers, really. Except maybe Tony, because he’d try to take the TARDIS apart, and that would make the Doctor really mad. Maybe. I don’t actually know.)